I have fallen into the DL trap. I keep looking for men who sleep with other men on the “down low”. Desire here is a demon to be kept at bay with regular offerings of 3 am hookups. To the world, they’re the very picture of heterosexuality—they wear grey T-shirts, follow F1 racers on Instagram, and hotly debate football. But every fortnight, their “hey” arrives like clockwork, and you roll your eyes as you get ready to leave for their place. The demon calls.
But the thrill of the secret wears off fast. You can only meet them at their convenience. They keep deleting Grindr profiles, and very often, you find out there is a girlfriend or wife in the picture. A Mumbai-based writer said that’s why he prefers to keep it to hookups. He knows that expecting anything more will only lead to disappointment.
“My worry with DL men is that their worry about being outed will make them treat me poorly,” he said.
He’s right. Two out of the 10-odd men I spoke with said that the DL guys they were seeing “showed their true colours” in time. Once these men catch on that you’re getting attached, they grow distant, ghost you, or hurt you. Forget coming out, DL guys can’t even imagine developing feelings for another man. Men are bros who you sometimes fall into bed with. The closet is in the basement of a containment facility.
Being DL is not the same as being closeted, though there’s some overlap. A closeted man knows he is queer, but a DL one does his best not to acknowledge the Grindr logo on his phone. Then again, DLs aren’t a monolith. Some love to lovebomb before they pull a vanishing act. Others won’t even give you their name.
Also read: Indian gay men are marrying straight women, breaking hearts. Coming out is too risky
What’s the appeal?
Much has been said about the homophobia that creates the category. The term originally described Black queer men in the US who cheated on their wives and girlfriends with other men. What do you get when you combine 1990s masculinity with White supremacy and racial stereotypes? Men who could only act on desires on the down low.
Even in 2026, the burden of manliness weighs heavy—why do you think they spend six days at the gym? What I want to know, however, is why gay men fall into the DL trap at all.
My junior from school said he sticks around because some of these closeted gay or bisexual men are surprisingly good at BDSM etiquette. A dear friend who has been in the DL trenches for the past few months says they make for good kissers.
“I kissed this closeted bi man for just five minutes, and it was more invigorating than the whole of last year’s makeouts with gay men,” he said, typing out a ‘sigh’ to communicate that it wasn’t a particularly jovial realisation.
His theory is that DL bi men learn to kiss from women. It challenges the long-held view (mine) that gay men are better at kissing than cis-het men. Every woman I know has faced the goldfish—men who kiss as if they’re gulping down water, gaping against your face. Clearly, the latest findings call for more research.
My friend added that the appeal is in more than their expertise in the French art. More often than not, DL men are also masc-presenting. “If you’re masc-obsessed, you’ve landed a jackpot,” he said. No ‘sighs’ were typed this time.
Unlike most gay men I know, I never had a crush on a straight guy. I needed my feelings to be at least partly reciprocated to feel an inkling of affection. So why have I grown obsessed with this straight-adjacent category of men?
It’s as Janelle Monáe said in ‘Screwed’: Everything is sex except sex, which is power. I enjoy watching the DL men squirm, posed precariously at the edge of the closet. They’re deeply scared of a petty slur I outgrew by 10th grade. There is a vicious pleasure in watching it unfold.
The most recent man I met—a short king who overused deodorant—refused to meet my eye when I asked if he was bi or gay. So we watched House of the Dragon and talked about F1 racer Charles Leclerc. You see, this is why I keep returning. What’s healthier than dealing with your inability to be vulnerable? Consume someone else’s fear of fragility! Call it sadism, if you will. I call it free therapy.
Views are personal.
(Edited by Ratan Priya)